


Huckleberry, Cherry, or Lime

by zetsubonna



Series: Caquelon [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Condoms, Liberal Use of Fuck as an Adjective, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7593544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubonna/pseuds/zetsubonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I keep talking about Steve's enthusiasm for giving blowjobs, and Sam's reciprocal enthusiasm for receiving those blow jobs, and then I realize I've only ever written one happening in the context of a threesome.</p><p>So I am rectifying that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Huckleberry, Cherry, or Lime

Sam's wit is dry as a bone, and Steve likes it when Sam thinks circles around him. He likes it when he thinks he's said something pithy and Sam doesn't even have to think before the riposte rolls casually off his tongue. He's into the way Sam's smiles are full of eye contact, those big soft brown eyes sparkling with warmth even when he's being cuttingly sarcastic.

It's easy, loving Sam. It would have been harder not to. And it's not just that Sam is gorgeous, although he is, the man looked like an angel even before they gave him robot wings after all the training he had to go through for Pararescue- not that he was a slouch before that.

* * *

Sam has noticed that Steve's smile is always sheepish. Steve's chin bobs down to his chest and his eyes drop, because Steve lives in a constant state of embarrassing himself, and that didn't take long to figure out. Steve moves in a confident, comfortable way when he's in fight mode, but when he's just standing around, he fiddles with his hands. His shoulders are always a little off, either curved in or pushed too far back, exaggerating his posture. Sam never bothered to memorize the list of Steve's ancient health complaints, but he's aware spine problems were on the list.

* * *

Sam's got a lot of smiles, but there's this one that he does when he thinks he's being dirty that makes Steve's stomach warm up and bubble with butterflies the way sunshine makes his shoulders freckle. Just a little, just a gentle thing, and there it goes, he's done, spinning around, like Sam has to say anything to make Steve want to fool around.

* * *

Sam spends a lot more time than he's comfortable admitting looking at Steve's mouth, and if Steve's noticed, he doesn't say. He might get a little twitch around the corners of his lips sometimes, but he doesn't tease Sam about it. Not that Sam would care, they tease each other all the time, but Steve's not the sort of guy who makes a dirty joke first. Second, third, and last, yeah, absolutely, but not first.

* * *

Sam just asks flat when he thinks it's going to sound dirty and Steve's ready to start digging, are you kidding? It'd be weirder if he didn't. And yeah, Sam's dick's a little long for Steve's usual techniques, but it's not like Steve doesn't relish the idea of getting better at what he does through as much practice as he can get. Steve would never say it, but there's no neutrality where Sam's concerned: half the time Steve wants to give Sam a big hug and the other half he wants Sam in his mouth.

* * *

Sam has also noticed Steve's chest, because it's not fucking subtle; the man likes to buy his shirts at least a size, if not two sizes, too small, and he fucking bounces when he jogs, he has to know that about himself. Steve's less smug about that, more embarrassed again. If he catches anyone looking, he looks away, usually upward with a soft sigh, a sigh that puts Sam in mind of his sisters and a dozen girls he went to school with who hit puberty like trucks. It switches the mood from admiring to mutually embarrassing pretty quickly, so Sam makes a conscious effort, when they're not in situ, to keep his eyes on Steve's face, and to give anyone who tries to look at him enough of a frown that they get more embarrassed than Steve.

Privately, though, he has groped extensively, and Steve laughs at him, sometimes pleased, sometimes wry and with a good natured shove at Sam's hands. Steve prefers to have his belly rubbed, but only with forewarning and permission. Steve is a big, pissy cat, and Sam thinks that's pretty fucking cute.

* * *

While Steve's vacillating between the two, he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Steve catches himself touching things, fiddling with seams, putting his hands in his pockets, putting his hands on his hips or folding them over his chest. He wishes he could drop the last two, they make his chest bulge ridiculously and he's mildly worried his broad shoulders and small waist are a downward arrow to the half-mast he gets when he thinks too hard, and Sam looks at him like he fucking knows exactly what's going on and Christ Jesus that makes it worse.

* * *

Sam hasn't worked his way up to asking if he can jerk off on Steve's chest, not yet. The entire concept of coming on bare skin outside of handjobs and intercrural sex makes Steve blush and squirm, torn between scandalized and horrified. That is, in its own way, precious, because it isn't like Steve is sheltered or even inexperienced. He just has certain things that make him fluster, certain very specific things.

* * *

Sam's gorgeous all the time, even when he's dog tired and calling Steve an asshole, even when he's passed out with his head dropped back and snoring like a truck, which he absolutely does, even though he denies it. Steve hasn't really had a lot of experience expressing his feelings outside of righteous indignation and irritability, so his response to 'Sam is paying attention to me' when it's not time to kick something in the teeth is to follow Sam with his eyes like a sunflower tilting over the course of the day. Sometimes Sam catches him looking, and while Steve would drop his eyes and shrug and look sheepish, Sam widens his eyes and raises his eyebrows, then grins, and even when it's just a puzzled grin Steve melts and it's right back into limbo: hug or... other?

* * *

Sam isn't quite sure who he has to thank for Steve's predisposition towards bedroom talk that hits a place halfway between banter and taunts, but Sam definitely likes that. He's glad they can fuck with the lights on, that's good, and he's especially fond of the way Steve gets about head. Not so much with respect to getting head, although Steve will accept that whenever it's offered and shows a degree of respectful gratitude that a lot of assclowns from the current era could stand to learn. Steve is a volunteer who will take any chance he gets to hit his knees, and Sam appreciates that on a level he couldn't put into words without Steve firmly clamping his hand over Sam's mouth and telling him to shut the entire fuck up (Steve internalizes every phrase he hears that incorporates 'fuck') before Steve's head explodes from blushing so hard, and if Sam wants to get sucked off he should just skip to the request, please and thank you.

Sam does not need that kind of power. He has to admit, though, that if anyone were to be granted the ability to tap the dimmer on the lights, lean over and murmur in Steve's ear that he wants his cock sucked, and have him hit the floor, well. A lot of guys would take more exploitative advantage of that privilege than Sam. Sam has restraint and discretion and tries to keep it to about three times a week; five if Steve looks like he needs his morale boosted, because it's not like Sam's about to complain that his gorgeous superhero boyfriend likes sucking his dick too much.

* * *

Sam's starting to get that look on his face and Steve doesn't know what to do with his hands again. God, Sam makes him squirrelly when he's like this. It's the best and the worst at the same time. There's only been a few people in Steve's life who've gotten to him like this (he can name three, besides Sam) and the heat in his face and the heavy salivating in his mouth are like an itch. Steve learned to have sex when his dick wasn't always going to work, so he trained himself to get off in other ways, mostly by doing for others. He looked it up on the Internet once Natasha convinced him that anybody monitoring his searches should be made to feel bad about their life choices. It's called 'service-oriented' in BDSM circles, and he's not sure BDSM is what he's into, but he knows what he likes, and that the best test he ever got of his new-and-improved lung capacity was laying on his back in that jeep with Peggy. He'd kept his promise not to use his hands. She'd been duly impressed.

* * *

Sam has never met anybody who liked sucking his dick as much as Steve does. Steve is very, very enthusiastic, which naturally makes Sam wonder if Steve's been like this about every dick he's ever had in his mouth, or if it's limited to Sam. That is the kind of question that Steve would find painfully embarrassing to answer, so Sam is saving it for a day when Steve's tiny, hidden humiliation kink flares up while Sam is feeling especially curious. It hasn't happened yet, but it doubtless will eventually. For now, Sam is content to wonder.

* * *

 Sam scoots up to the edge of the couch. The dimmer for the lights is programmed into his phone, which Steve tries to pretend he doesn't think is fucking amazing. Steve also usually tries to pretend he doesn't know exactly what Sam's doing when he adjusts the lights and scoots up like this, but Steve knows damned well, and he starts flexing his hands a little on the arm of the sofa and on his jeans.

* * *

 "C'mere," Sam says, and Steve leans closer, eyebrows slightly raised, like maybe Sam will send him to the kitchen to get some lemonade or tea or something.

"Nah," Sam says, leaning closer, brushing his lips on Steve's jaw, then his mouth, letting the grin crack since he can't contain it anymore. "Not here. Here."

Sam widens his knees and squeezes his own cock through his pants, then pops the button, and Steve's pupils dilate so quick Sam could swear he hears the guy's mouth start to water.

"Want to?" Sam offers, like he doesn't know the answer already.

Steve kisses Sam on the mouth and slides off the couch in response, and Sam almost wishes he were the kind of guy who brags, because that's the damn ego trip of the century.

"Mind taking your shirt off for me?" Sam asks as he fishes a flavored condom out of the drawer in the table by the sofa. The flavors are a thing Steve's experimenting with, and it's not Sam's mouth so he isn't going to complain a bit.

Steve rolls his eyes, but takes off his overshirt and tips his head back as he looks up at Sam. His undershirt is ridiculous, thin enough to almost be transparent and barely holding all of him in. His nipples always look hard, even when they aren't. "That good enough for you?"

Sam can't help the little twitch of laughter at Steve's dry tone. "I guess it'll do."

"Picky," Steve accuses without heat, leaning up to tug at Sam's jeans and pull them off his hips. Steve gets them down to Sam's knees before he comes back for Sam's boxer briefs. Sam used to switch back and forth between them and regular boxers until Steve told him outright that the boxer briefs gave his ass better lines. It wasn't a sacrifice or anything.

The boxer briefs end up in the middle of Sam's thighs as Steve rocks back up on his knees to give Sam's cock a squeeze, stroking it and peering at the wrapper in Sam's hand. "What'd we get today?"

"Cherry," Sam says, flashing it at him. "These are those sour ones you like, right?"

"I like the grape," Steve says, "Haven't tried the cherry yet. We out of the lime ones?"

"Mm, yeah," Sam leans back and rolls his shoulders into the sofa, getting comfortable. "Had to get those online. They were good?"

"Almost tasted like fruit," Steve says, grinning a little. "Open it, wouldja? My hand's busy."

"Can see that," Sam says, tugging at the foil. "You've been moisturizing lately?"

"Shut up," Steve says, all high cheeks, dropping his eyes and turning his perfect teeth away. "You said my hands were like sandpaper."

"You were listening?" Sam drops the wrapper beside him on the couch and offers the rolled up condom to Steve, who takes it.

"Obviously. Can't get it in my mouth if I can't get my hands on it without being told it hurts."

"I never said 'hurts,'" Sam says, closing his eyes and relaxing further, his jeans dropping slowly down his calves while Steve starts to roll the condom down over his cock. "I said 'chafes.' I, mm, specifically used the word 'chafe.'"

"Because you're a jerk with a five dollar vocabulary," Steve says affectionately, squeezing and checking to make sure the condom's in the right place.

"Mmhm," Sam says. "Just mad 'cause I'm smarter than a dirt dart."

"Shut up," Steve says. "I can't bicker with your dick in my mouth."

"That's the idea," Sam says, then catches his breath when Steve's mouth comes down over the condom, hot and live, his tongue pressing urgently over every sensitive point and ridge. "Mm, goddamn. That's, mm, really nice."

Steve hums, pleased, the hand not wrapped around the base of Sam's cock to steady it resting on his bare thigh, squeezing gently when Steve bobs down. When Sam's eyes open to look down at him, Steve's eyes are only half-closed, and the intense concentration flickers for a moment when he feels Sam looking and glances up at him, then winks.

"And I'm a jerk?" Sam says, sighing when Steve's agreement makes his thighs twitch. Steve's hair looks soft enough that Sam brushes his fingers through it before curling his hand gently against the back of Steve's head. "Mm, thought you said you couldn't with my dick in your mouth?"

Steve's next noise is smug, and then he leans forward far enough to take Sam's dick all the way into his mouth, deep enough to graze his nose against Sam's stomach, which makes it very hard for Sam to think in words and leaves him with swirls of purple and green shooting stars from the rolling of his eyes.

"Jesus," Sam moans, quiet and breathy. "Mm, pretty sure that's, ah, a cheap way to win."

Steve hums again nonchalantly, knowing that, this close to the back of his throat, it makes Sam's toes curl. He taps the outside of Sam's left thigh before he starts to move faster, tongue pushing up tight, the latex almost squeaking on his lips, and Sam's brain's almost too fogged to get the joke. When he does, his voice wavers between a groan and a moan as he lightly swats the back of Steve's head.

"You're, ah- real, mm, funny, big guy. Keep, mm, doing what you're doing. Damn, that's amazing."

It's easy, even when it's tricky. Steve's working on a trick he used to have where he could swallow partway down, but Sam's long cock makes it harder than it usually would be. The trick of it is part of the fun, and Steve makes sure to put most of the weight of his effort on his right hand, bearing down on Sam's thigh and earning himself one of Sam's more trilling laugh-moans and another gentle swat to the back of his head, this time with a shaking hand.

"Fuck  _off_ ," Sam says, his trembling mouth fighting to hold a grin. "On my, nn, left, okay, acknowledged-  _uhnfuck- dothatagain_ -"

Steve, obligingly, swallows, noting that he's not choking even a little anymore. He's so damn pleased with himself he'd be grinning if his mouth weren't otherwise busy.

Sam's rolling eyes drop down from his fluttering lashes just enough to see Steve's ass wiggle with self-satisfied excitement and digs his fingers into Steve's shoulder. "G-god _damn_ , Steve-"

Steve lets Sam's cock slip from his mouth with a noisy pop, just long enough to mutter, "Any time you feel like it, slowpoke."

Steve swallows again, and Sam's vision goes purple-green- _white_.

* * *

"That looks weird," Steve offers, his head resting on Sam's shoulder and peering sideways at the tablet.

"Yogurt flavored for condoms is weird as fuck." Sam reviews the cart. "So, we got peach, Caipirinha, grape, butterscotch, green apple, orange, cola, mint, and vanilla."  
  
"Sour cherry, grapefruit, and banana," Steve requests, closing his eyes and grinning.  
  
"You sure you don't want to try the bacon?" Sam teases.

"No bacon, no strawberry, no chocolate," Steve says firmly. "Even _your_ dick can't make _that shit_  taste good."

"Sure," Sam says, clicking the checkout button. "Still think you'd do better to just cover it in pancake syrup."

"I'd run out of syrup for my fucking pancakes," Steve says, feigning offense. "Besides, it'd be sticky."

"Can't have that," Sam says, kissing the top of Steve's head. "You're such an asshole."

Steve blows Sam a cherry-latex scented kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

>  __  
> Call my baby 'Lollipop,' I'll tell you why  
>  His kiss is sweeter than an apple pie  
> And when he does his shaky rockin' dance  
> Man, I haven't got a chance  
> ...  
> Sweeter than candy on a stick  
>  **Huckleberry, cherry, or lime**  
>  If you had a choice, he'd be your pick  
> But Lollipop is mine  
> ~"Lollipop" (The Chordettes)


End file.
